I Like Not Only To Be Loved,

Your Dunce Who Can't Do His Sums Always Has A Taste For The Infinite.

We Have No Right To Come Forward And Urge Wider Changes For Good, Until We Have Tried To Alter The Evils Which Lie Under Our Own Hands.

I Have A Knack Of Hoping, Which Is As Good As An Estate.

But What We Strive To Gratify, Though We May Call It A Distant Hope, Is An Immediate Desire; The Future Estate For Which Men Drudge Up City Alleys Exists Already In Their Imagination And Love.

There Are Glances Of Hatred That Stab, And Raise No Cry Of Murder.